Apprentice
by Zighana
Summary: A strange phenomenon has taken root in Atlanta, Georgia. There are a handful of walkers that instead of attacking the living, they're protecting them. The cause is Marie Laveau, Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. After a chance encounter, Marie offers to protect Rick and his team but for a hefty price: Carl.
1. Chapter 1

**Apprentice**

_A strange phenomenon has taken root in Atlanta, Georgia. There are a handful of walkers that instead of attacking the living, they're protecting them. The cause is Marie Laveau, Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. After a chance encounter, Marie offers to protect Rick and his team but for a hefty price: Carl._

**Run**

Carl never understood what drew him to leave the safety of his group. Be it the crisp air or a burst of defiance against Rick, he snuck out of the shack they inhabited and left.

He is aware that wandering around a ghost town with no means of direction was lethal; this world had no time for dallying. But he told himself that it was to stock up on food and ammunition and it was a good enough excuse for him. The sky's orange glow warned that night was fast approaching. Night is essentially the worst time to be out without back-up or defenses. Carl almost never goes out at night, especially alone. But his age gave way to cocky appeal and he told himself to test himself, prove to Rick and his ego that he can handle himself, that he doesn't need Daddy Dearest running to his rescue. He pulls out his pistol, given to him by Shane, and spins it. It's the habit he formed when he wanted good luck. He tossed it into the sky and waited. When it slipped into his holster he gave an overconfident grin and kept marching.

Minutes ticked by before he discovered an old ice cream shop a good mile away from the shack. Perhaps there's some canned fruit (he hopes for maraschino cherries) stashed inside the cabinets and some heavily packaged sweets that are days from expiration. A boy can only hope.

He tries to peek through the boarded up windows and listen closely for signs of shuffling and rasping. The coming darkness is making Carl depend on his hearing more than his sight. When he hears silence, he comes through the back door guns a-blazing, checking every corner for a walker. He checks the barstool for anything edible and becomes disappointed when he finds nothing. Some desiccated cherries, molding fruit, maggot-eaten ice cream, and some powder that was once crushed almonds made the list of things Carl will never eat. He finds a jar of murky something when he hears the tell-tale signs of a walker fast approaching. Gun in hand, he waits for them to come closer when a pair of cold, rotten hands grab him from behind.

He screams, struggling against the hungry walker before smashing the jar against its face. Lo and behold, maraschino cherries scattered from the impact, masking the decaying walker's scent with sickly sweetness.

Carl vows to kill it for ruining his favorite snack.

He pulls out his gun and fires.

Click.

_What?_ Carl swore he filled it with bullets this morning. Missing chamber?

Click.

Carl remembers: He shot at three walkers, and wasted six bullets. Six, precious, bullets.

He should listen to Rick more often about bullet conservation.

Carl got into a stance, facing the walker, getting a good look at it. Something was, strange about this walker. It didn't moan or rasp, it didn't move.

It stood there. Staring.

It scares Carl more than the moving hungry ones.

It wasn't the behavior that was strange; it was the walker's appearance. His clothes looked old, like from the early twentieth century. His form of decomposition was water-damage. He reeks of swamp and dirt, a contrast from the fresh and forest-scented walkers that Carl's encountered. Another peculiar thing was the walker's eyes were milky white. No yellowing or signs of infection.

This is officially the strangest walker Carl has ever encountered in his life.

"What do you.." Carl began.

"Shh…" the walker hisses, its rigid hand putting a finger to its lips. It talks? Is this an advanced walker?

The walker disappears into the shadows, and the rasping came. A new walker has arrived, looking for a meal. Carl needs to hide fast—

It spots him.

The new walker comes at him, manic and excited. Hands claw at air as Carl ducked and dodged and swung his gun at its skull, trying to crack it. Their tango continued for seconds until the walker managed to swat the gun away and pin Carl to the barstool, teeth aiming for the jugular. Carl muttered a silent prayer for a quick death until something even stranger happened. The hungry walker was ripped in half by a bayonet, held by the quiet walker. The silent one nods its head at Carl, before smashing the mutilated corpse of its victim to mush. Carl sinks to the floor, trying to grasp what had just happened until he sees his savior hold out its badly decomposed hand for Carl to take.

A walker kills another walker, to save a human's life? The confusion was too much to bear.

"You did a good job, Bastian. You may walk this child back to his home to make sure he's safe."

A voice floats in the darkness. Feminine and deep, it soothed Carl yet frightened him. He hears heels click sharply towards him, and feels a warm hand touch his face.

"Little boy, didn't anyone tell you to not go out when it's dark?" the voice asked.

Everything went black after that.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Marie sits on her throne, overlooking her fortress with a small sense of indignation. The lower left portion of Atlanta has been stabilized; the infected have been thoroughly neutralized and disposed of. She's waiting for Queenie to give a status report of the lower right portion, and Cordelia of the upper right. Her walkie-talkie stands at attention in case anything else comes up.

Her crusade killing the infected have taken root months ago; Louisiana and Mississippi have been dispatched of, and the last of the witches have been doing the best they could to hold off the spread. With any luck, the entire United States would be wiped clean of the infected in one year. The infection would be the thing of the past, no more mortals would add to the body count.

The Witches would finally be back in control.

Her walkie-talkie sparks back to life.

"Marie, it's Queenie. The Lower Right Portion is stabilized. The Zombies are now guarding the main entrance. How's the center?"

"Infested. I was lucky to clear out half of it with Bastien. I'll dispatch of the rest tonight. I expect you and Cordelia to give me a follow-up by morning."

"Yes ma'am."

"Alright. Disperse."

Click.

Marie sits back, eyeing the ceiling with remote interest. Her mind has been drifting off to that night where she had met that boy. Bastien was lucky to save him when he did; she doubt she could handle another child that turned on her watch. With any luck, Misty should be finished patching him up.

Carl wakes to soft humming. It's soothing and warm, accompanied by gentle fingers combing and stroking his hair. He opens his eyes and finds a blonde woman looking down at him, her smile warm and sweet.

"I'm glad you're awake. Miss Marie was awful worried about you."

Her accent isn't from here; perhaps it's somewhere in the bayous of Louisiana.

Flashes of last night resurface in his brain and he jolts awake, scrambling to find his gun.

"Lookin' for this?"

She holds up his gun holster, eyes brimming with curiosity and worry.

"Boys like you shouldn't walk around with guns. That's how you kill yourself."

"Who are you? Where the hell am I?" Carl demands. The blonde woman looks hurt at the vulgar language, but she masks it quickly.

"I'll answer your questions when I know you'll be calm and you'll sit down and let me finish cleaning your face. You got a nasty gash on your forehead that was a real bitch to heal, you know." She saunters over to him and brushes a lock of hair out of his face. Carl wanted to flinch, but there was something…relaxing about her. Her fingers put his fears at ease with every soft stroke; it reminded him of his mother when she'd patch up his wounds.

"There, there, child," she coos, "I won't hurt you. You look like a very sweet boy. Have you found your tribe?"

He doesn't understand a word she says but he nods his head anyway; her voice is becoming music to his ears.

"I found my tribe once. Your tribe will always have a place in your heart, it will never leave you. Always hold on to your tribe."

He can hear her smile.

"Misty, Misty!" A sharp bark jolts them out of their reverie. The blonde woman sits erect when a tall black woman enters.

"Yes, Madam Marie?" the woman inquires.

"How's the boy?"

"Well, I was just calming him down. He was awful frightened when he woke up. He got a lot of questions."

All eyes were on Carl, rendering him shy. The black woman walks over to him and crouches to his level, her eyes boring into his core.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Carl."

"Carl," she repeats, scrunching her mouth like it's a bad taste, "Such a…simple name. Well, I've heard stranger. Now," She stands up and walks over to a cabinet.

"I believe you're famished. Being out in the wild by your lonesome must be exhausting."

"I'm not alone," Carl interjects, then cursing his big mouth.

"You're not alone?" the black woman asks, eyebrow raised.

"Yes, I'm not alone, ma'am. I have a group with me, a group that's probably looking for me right now."

"They won't get far. You're not in Kansas anymore, I'm afraid." The blonde woman replies.

"You are far out in the swamps of Georgia. No mortal or infected can survive, let alone make it, through these swampy terrains without being eaten, drowning, or suffering Nature's elements all at once."

"Until I say otherwise, you can't leave without permission of Misty." The black woman nods towards her. The blonde woman wiggles her fingers and smiles at Carl.

"You can't leave until I know your wounds are properly tended to and that you didn't suffer any nasty infections. I want you well and healthy for what Madam Marie has in store for you."

"What do you have in store for me?"

"You'll learn in time, child. Until then, tell me of your group. Should they ever stumble upon Misty's swamp, we need to know what we're dealing with. I don't think Misty would enjoy having bullets riddle her shack."

"Yes. I get awful angry if someone harms my home, or Stevie." She holds up a green radio that's playing some song Carl vaguely remembers his dad listen to some eons ago.

"My group is full of good people. We don't want any trouble," Carl begins, "I'm sure they just want me with them safe and sound. I appreciate your kindness, but I need to get going so my dad won't worry."

"He does have a point," Misty looks to Marie, "If you place yourself in his shoes, it's understandable he needs to go home soon." 

Marie pinches the bridge of her nose and inhales sharply. She looks at the two and sighs.

"I guess we need to return him to his group by sundown. But be warned, Carl." Her eyes lock onto his. "When the time comes, you'll be by my side. You owe a debt to us that you _will_ carry out, _dead or alive_."

With that, she leaves.

"Who is she?" Carl looks to Misty.

"Marie Laveau: Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. A woman who just so happens to have cured half the world of the infected."


End file.
